Nine Times Dean Needed Sam Part 6: Achoo
by Soncnica
Summary: Dean is a mess, Sam is angry and having Kleenex is just plain awesome. Happy bday Mad Server.


**This story is written as a secret bday surprise for Mad Server's bday so… Happy bday Mad Server! Hope you're having a good one! **_Hugs you tight! _

**There are eight more players in this... and they will be posting their stories throughout the day... check them out too. This is part 6/9 in this project of ours. **

**I own nothing. I apologize for all the spelling/grammar mistakes you're gonna find.**

**Enjoy…**

**---**

His cell phone rang. Well, it vibrated in his pocket more or less and made him squirm on the chair like he had ants in his pants or just doing a really library-inappropriate dance.

Not fun, when the librarian is as old looking as the Earth itself and her eyes are the eyes of a witch when making a spell that turns you into a walking talking frog. With way, way too much blue eyeliner surrounding her bright green eyes.

Huh. He didn't know what hit him at first… too engrossed in the book spread up before him, he though someone actually did cast a spell on him. He wouldn't be surprised if it was the librarian herself.

And then she goes and makes a _shhh_ gesture with her bony finger over her way, way too red lips.

Sam can barely contain his eye roll, because no matter what, and no matter in how many libraries he's been in, in his entire life… those kind of librarians just make him roll his eyes. They are way, way too… cliché. Or maybe Dean is rubbing off on him way, way too much.

He nods politely to the old bag of gray hair, flashes his dimples to her, because God knows, that always works and goes fishing for his phone that won't stop vibrating.

"What?" he whispers into the phone; one part angry, one part annoyed and one tiny little part scared, trying really hard to hunch down so that no one would see or hear him. For being over six feet tall… he ain't doing a good job at it and the librarian shushes him again.

"_I need ya. Bring Kleenex."_

Before he can say another word the sound of coughing and then beepbeepbeep on the other end discourages him to do anything at all really.

-:-

"Here."

He tosses the box of Kleenex on Dean's lap and pretends he didn't see that wince tugging up Dean's cracked and red lips. He seriously needs to stop biting at them.

The small table near Dean's bed is covered with medicine bottles, pills, empty and half full glasses of stale water, used handkerchiefs that are of indeterminate age, a thermometer and three cups of tea that he thinks Dean hadn't even touched yet.

Sam sighs.

Dean's eyes are red but his nose is redder which goes really well with his lips, his cheeks are pale but his neck is covered with sweat, his hands are trembling where they are resting on top of the brown blanket, his forehead is shining like neon lights in the red district and his hair has seen better days. Hell, his whole body had seen better days.

Sam sits down on his bed and scrunches up his nose… Dean stinks.

"Oh, man… you stink. When was the last time you saw water?"

"Erm… dunno."

His throat is scratchy… feels like he's talking with broken glass stuck in there.

"You're gonna shower today, dude. One way or another."

Dean sniffs in some snot: "Whateeeeeev'r."

Truth is… he has neither strength nor will to do anything at the moment. Even pressing a hanky to his nose is too much. And let's not talk about blowing it. Talk about ouch, because he's pretty sure his nose is really dry and has some dried skin flopping around his nostrils. But he can't be sure, because he hasn't seen a mirror in like… uf… days.

He tries not to think about how he'd do under a shower… his head hurts too much. His body hurts too much. Even his hair hurts too much and he doesn't even have a lot of 'em. For a brief moment, he wonders how much Sam must hurt when he's sick.

Ugh.

"So, what did you find out?"

Dean coughs as an answer to that question. And sniffs. And sneezes. And cleans his nose. Kind of.

He was supposed to do some research of his own, but seriously… you can not demand 'look at the computer and think about stuff' from a sick man. It's against the law. Or it should be anyway.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice is just way to cheery for his ears to handle right now.

He groans.

His muscles are like noodles, his eyes burn and tear up every five seconds, his stomach hurts, his head's gonna explode or implode, whatever, his fingers are trembling, his nose is so stuffed, he feels it all the way up to his brain, his toes are all but frozen… and the blanket is scratchy. And he sees yellow spots wherever he looks and… oh, crap. Fever. Awesome.

"Nothin'."

"Nothing? Then why did you…"

"I needed 'ese," he holds up the over used hanky in his shaky hand and sneezes again, "and you ev'n," pause to breathe through his stuffy nose, "got the soft," breathe "ones. Awww, Sammy you," sneeze, "caaaaare."

Sam blinks and misses the way the hanky just kinda dissolved in Dean's hand. Fell to the blanket in little, wet pieces.

"So let me see if I understand this? You called me, while I was in the library, researching a case, you phoned me there, interrupted me, made me being shushed by someone old enough to be dead already, made me get here… because you needed a new pack of Kleenex?"

It goes unnoticed to Sam that while he was on his annoyance slash anger induced word-diarrhea, Dean sneezed, coughed and blew his nose at least ten times. And a bubble of snot that burst in Dean's left nostril.

Oh Lord.

"Well duhhh… 'm sick," sneeze "here. You 'ave me," sneeze "on bed rest."

"You're a dick."

"Pus," sneeze, "sy."

"Wipe your nose, dude… 's disgusting."

"Ya still," sneeze, cough, sniff, "care."

Sam snorts.

Yeah… he cares. But that doesn't change the fact that he has to sleep in the same room as someone who sounds like he's breathing like a scuba diver, sneezes all over himself, coughs like he's hacking up a lung, smells like the sewers and basically… looks like death.

Seriously?

He needs to get himself another room. ASAP.

Dean sneezes and sniffs.

Well that answers that then. He can't leave the idiot alone. He'd drown in his own snot for crying out loud.

**---**

**The End. **

**Sowwy, I twied to wwite something funny … erm… happy bday! Heee!!!**


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